


Braiding

by pettyprocrastination



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Am i wack?, BE GENTLE WITH THIS MAN YALL HE BEEN THROUGH SO MUCH, Din Djarin needs to be EASED into intimate moments AND THATS ON GOD, Din is Touch Starved, Emotional Intimacy, F/M, Hair Braiding, Why is there not a tag for Din Djarin?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24044602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pettyprocrastination/pseuds/pettyprocrastination
Summary: Din Djarin embarks on a slow but caring journey into intimate moments with the child and his partner, who he may want to become more than that. Also Yodito learns to braid!
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV) & Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 12
Kudos: 214





	Braiding

**Author's Note:**

> Five pages babey! Really like writing this one because id on’t think it’s mentioned enough that Din most likely has to be like, eased, into such tender and intimate moments otherwise he’ll feel suffocated and uncomfortable. Homeboy has gone years upon years without this type of touch, it’s sort of become a part of his stoic personality. Anyways most likely going to write more pieces like these, about Din slowly being eased into intimacy. That doesn’t necessarily mean sex (but that’s a possibility) but just tender loving moments like this, that leave him exposed, leave him human. Anywhomst if yall want to hit me up with some hc’s or reuqests PLEASE do i love din so much. Pedro is a KING

Din loved your hair. Thick, brown, curls that swayed and moved like the waves of the oceans on Kamino. Beautiful tresses that bounced with each step and framed your face like a priceless picture. Once during a long flight through hyperspace, Din made the mistake to look over at you. Seeing the bright colors from the stars they were speeding by bounce across your face and shine through your hair, he swore for a moment he forgot how to breathe. You looked positively ethereal, smiling down at the sleeping child in your arms like some sort of patron saint, protecting both the innocent and the damned alike.

Sometimes, in moments of silence and solitude, he thought about what it’d be like to touch it. 

Not in the way he saw others do to you so many times. Some self-entitled heap of bantha fodder, waltzing up to you at a market and bringing their hands to stroke and tug at your beautiful locks like an animal on display in a hutt’s lounge. 

No. 

He thought of his fingers working along your scalp in the shower, after a grueling day of hunting a bounty and the trek back to the Razor Crest. To help wash the sweat and grime from your hair and skin. To feel the water trickle off your hair and to his finger tips, your eyes shut and your head tipped back in relaxation as he washed it with care. He thought of feeling it tickle his face as you straddled his lap with a playful smile while covering his face in feather-light kisses, so soft and quick that they tickled his skin and made him grin. He thought of the feeling of it fanned out against his chest while you laid on him, the child snuggled against your own chest, the both of you with drooping eyes and soft smiles, just barely awake. His arms would stay wrapped around you both and his eyes open, a vigilant protector, a loving father and a committed partner. 

Din’s senses have been guarded since he was a child and learned the ways of the Mandalore, any attempt at a touch to his face since then had been either a test from those who taught him, or an attempt on his life by those he hunted. 

He hadn’t felt a tender touch in so long, he wasn’t quite sure how he’d respond to one. 

The Mandalorian was shaken out of his stupor by the excited giggles of the child, which were followed by your smooth voice after. 

“Very good.” You cooed, “Now take this piece and bring it forward just like that and- you're doing so well!”

You were always so great with the child. Kind, patient, and loving. Especially when his little green hands first found purchase in your hair and tugged with glee. Now he would simply wind his tiny fingers into your locks like they were a security blanket and he would drift off to sleep against your chest. Listening to your steady heartbeat and feeling your soft halo made him feel safe. Din understood why. 

When he was young, before the attack that took his parents away, before he was saved by the death watch and taken in as a foundling, Din loved his mother's hair. Her hair was different than yours, jet black and wavy, not as thick or curly, but beautiful just the same. As a child he would brush his mother’s hair whenever he got the chance, his tiny hand fumbling with the brush as it slid through her long hair with ease. One he was done she’d turn to him with that kind smile and kiss his forehead. 

“Would you like to braid it for me, Din?”

His father would watch from the doorway, smiling and biting back a laugh as he watched his little boy, no older than four, try to weave the separated parts of his mother's hair as well as he watched her do so many times. Sometimes it would come out more as a knot that the intricate braids he’d seen her wear. But the action always brought a smile to her face, and she’d kiss the crown of his head, on his own hair with such love the mere memory made him tremble. 

“Thank you my dear, it looks lovely.”

Din set the ship on auto-pilot and followed your voice, taking him down into the lower belly of the crest where you sat in your cot with hair still wet from the shower, a towel draped over your shoulders and hair separated into neat parts as-

His breath hitched, not that you would hear. It was such a soft noise, barely rising from his throat but by the Stars, his knees felt like they would give out in a moment. 

The child sat on your right, holding three separate parts of your hair in his hands, mirroring you as you did a neat and simple braid on the other side of your head. His big eyes watched your hands with such an intense focus Din doesn’t think he’d ever seen from him before. His little hands slowly brought one piece forward, then another to the back and one in front, slowly and carefully as if he were extracting a delicate gem from deep in the ground. 

“That looks lovely, little bean!” The child grinned up at you as he continued the process, moving the parts behind and in front of each other with such concentration his little hands would tremble but never cease their movement. You watched him with such care, such love in your eyes that Din refused to interrupt the moment. Instead he found himself leaning against the rungs of the ladder, watching as a smile grew on his face hidden by his beskar helmet. 

Once the child finished his braid, you neatly wrapped the end in a hair tie and scooped him into your arms. “You did so good!” You cheered, pressed loud kisses to his cheek as he laughed at the sensation, but found his tiny hands patting your cheek for more smooches. 

The child turned his head and grinned wide, letting out a string of babbles while reaching for his father. You smiled at Din and his helmet, once comforting, now felt all too tight on his head. 

“You wanna show your papa what you did?” 

Maybe it was the way you said it, or the implications of you calling him the child's father while you fit the role of the caring mother but he felt himself moving towards the two of you like he was in a trance. The little child grabbed the end of his finished braid and waved it from side to side with excitement, proudly showing off his finished product to the Mandalorian. 

“That looks great buddy.” His gloved hand rubbed the top of his tiny head, fingers twiddling his large green ears as he looked up at Din with a smile. The child reached for Din’s left hand, grabbing the cloth of his glove and leading it to the end of a separated part of your hair that you had begun to braid. The child squawked and garbled and Din tensed up. 

“Oh.” He stammered, looking down at the smiling boy. “I don’t think-”

“You wanna see your papa braid my hair?” The child clapped his hands and nodded. You looked up to Din with a soft smile. “Would you like to?”

Like do? Stars, he didn’t think in that moment, there was anything he wanted more in the goddamn galaxy. But did he deserve to?

“I-” His voice cracked through the modulator. “I don’t know how.”

“No worries, space cowboy.” You padded the spot to your right on the pile of blankets, the only protection between you and the cold metal floor of the Razor Crest, “I can teach you.”

Din found himself sitting at your side, the child in his lap staring up at the two of you with such a big smile Din was worried he’d hurt his cheeks. You held three parted sections of your hair in one hand, motioning for him to take them. He reached out before freezing and looking at his own hands. His gloved finger tips must have had grime on them, sweat and dirt and just _filth,_ whether it be from cleaning his blaster or securing a bounty. There was no way they were clean enough, pure enough, _deserving_ enough to handle your hair, to handle _you._

“One-one second I uh-” His fingers fumbled as he slowly tugged on the tip of his gloves before wiggling them off his hands. He pretended he didn’t see the look of shock on your face that only served to kickstart his nerves once more. “-don’t want to get your hair dirty.”

“Are you sure?” You stared at him with such care and concern Din was worried he might cry if you didn’t look away. 

“Yeah it’s fine.” His breath stuttered when his bare hands gently took hold on the sections of your hair. “I’m fine.”

While instructing him, you took three parts into our own hands and braided slowly so he could follow your movements.

“You’re really good at this.” You told him once he finished off the braid, even going so far as to tie it off with a hair tie for you. The braid he did was a bit looser than yours out of fear of doing it too tightly and hurting you. 

Perhaps it was muscle memory, of those mornings spent sitting behind his mother, brushing and braiding her beautiful hair as his father watched with a smile.

“Could I-” it felt like there was something lodged in his throat when he asked you with a voice just above a whisper. “-Could I do another?”

And so he did. And then another. And another. He braided until the child was asleep and your hair was completely separated into neat little braids, protected for when you head laid on a pillow and found slumber. Which judging by your relaxed shoulders and sleepy smile would be sooner rather than later. 

He looked down at his lap, where the child lay sprawled out, eyes shut and drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. 

“Thank you.” Din stood slowly, taking the child into his arms as you turned to him. With any other pair it would be you thanking him, for his help with such a time-extensive task. But you knew what this was to him, what it truly meant. 

He settled the child into his little floating cradle, tucked under the fluffy blankets. “Of course.” You answered, finding solace in wrapping your own blanket tight around yourself.

“I should be getting back to flying now.” He blurted. Turning on his heel to quell his rapidly beating heart in the lonesome of his seat as he piloted the ship through open space. 

“Din.” You called, just like that he stopped on his tracks. 

He didn’t turn to face you. 

“You're very good at braiding.” He wondered if his father felt the same way looking at his mother as he did when he looked at you, blankets bunched up and eyes barely fighting off exhaustion. But you stayed awake, 

For him. 

“Would it be alright if i asked for your help in the future?” He appreciated that you asked him. You knew the underlying meaning of him doing such a thing, the power it had over him, a man who hadn’t laid his bare and on another creature with the intention of care and protection before meeting the child in _who knows how long._ That sort of power was unknown to him for so long, that too much of it could be overwhelming if taken in too much at once. 

So you gave him an offer. An out if he needed one. 

“Yes.” His hand curled along the rung of the ladder before pushing himself up. “I would like that.”


End file.
